Classic Poem

Dishonored by the higher, but loved by all the low,--
Say, is it not the pathway that the new has to go?
By those who ought to guard it betrayed, oh yes, betrayed,--
Say, is it not thus truth ever progress has made?

Some summer day beginning, a murmur in the grain,
It grows to be a roaring through the forests amain,
Until the sea shall bear it with thunder-trumpets' tone,
Where nothing, nothing's heard but it alone, it alone.

With Northern allies warring we take the Northern
For God and for our freedom--is the watchword we bring.
That God, who gave us country and language, and all,
We find Him in our doing, if we hear and heed His call.

That doing we will forward, we many, although weak,
'Gainst all in fearless fighting, who the truth will not seek:--
Some summer day beginning, a murmur in the grain,
It goes now as a roaring through the forests amain.

'T will grow to be a storm ere men think that this can be,
With voice of thunder sweeping o'er the infinite sea.
What nation God's call follows, earth's greatest power shall show,
And carry all before it, though it high stand or low.